


Until Your New World Begins

by mysticanni



Series: Party [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Vomiting, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Brian moves in with the others.
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor
Series: Party [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185452
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Until Your New World Begins

**Author's Note:**

> You don't need to have read the first part to read (and hopefully enjoy) this. 
> 
> Title from "Fan Dance" by Sam Phillips.

England April 1923

Brian cast his gaze over the little kitchen of the cottage and thought how much he would miss it. Part of him was excited to be moving in with the others but there was a part of him that had always liked being separate – that liked having his own space. 

There was plenty of room at the Hall, of course, and the others would respect his privacy. It was not quite the same, though. Until now he had been able to leave the Hall and slip through the gate in the wall to his own little cottage. 

But now the cottage had been let. “Phoebe is looking for somewhere to stay,” Freddie had announced casually over dinner one evening. “I think you met Phoebe at the masquerade ball, didn’t you, Brian, dear? He’s such a sweetheart.”

Brian had met many people at the ball and didn’t recall a Phoebe, although John helpfully noted that Phoebe was not his real name. He felt that his lovers were all looking at him expectantly. “Am I missing something?” he asked.

Crystal grinned, “I think they are wondering if you would consider letting your cottage to Phoebe and moving in with us.”

“Yes,” Roger nodded, “exactly that.”

Brian had not been sure how he felt about that. He had inherited the cottage from his beloved great-aunt Lucy. It had been a place of refuge for him in the years following the war. And he already spent most of his time at Queen Hall with his lovers so did he need to live with them? Although he supposed that if he already spent most of his time there then perhaps there was no point in having the cottage. He had sighed. 

“You don’t have to decide now,” John had told him softly, aiming a pointed look at Roger who looked as if he had been about to say something.

He had dithered over the decision for weeks until he had been walking in the grounds with Crystal who had said, out of the blue, “What do you reckon your great-aunt would have advised you to do?”

And Brian had known the answer immediately. Great-aunt Lucy would have counselled him to be brave and to do the thing that scared him most. So he had agreed to rent the cottage to Phoebe.

Now, he took a last look around the kitchen. It looked bare and oddly unfamiliar. Yet it still seemed crammed full of memories – great-aunt Lucy taking a tray of scones out of the oven – Brian mopping spilt milk from the flagstone floor – a robin peering in the window – it’s red breast bright on a grey January day - and great-aunt Lucy saying that seeing a robin was often an indication that someone you’d loved and lost was watching over you.

“Bri?” a soft voice recalled him to the present. He turned to find Roger in the kitchen doorway. Roger smiled sweetly at him. “Are you ready to go?”

Brian nodded. He was ready for this new chapter in his life. He went to check the front door was locked. They would leave by the back door and take the little path that led to the gate in the high wall around Queen Hall and was Brian’s portal to a whole other world. A world of luxury and servants and four gorgeous and very different men he loved. 

When he returned to the kitchen there was a robin on the window-sill. “Phoebe loves all living creatures,” Roger told him, “so he’ll feed your tame bird, you needn’t worry.”

Brian nodded, quietly thrilled that the little robin had appeared. Brian did not believe in signs and portents but he was pleased nonetheless. “Have you ever heard the notion that robins represent the souls of dead loved ones?” he asked as Roger limped out of the back door. He was leaning heavily on his cane, Brian noted with a frown. “Is your leg hurting you more than usual?” he added.

“Do you think the robin is the soul of your great-aunt Lucy?” Roger wondered, countering Brian’s questions with one of his own.

Brian laughed, pausing to lock the back door. He did not normally lock the doors and it felt strange to be doing this but Phoebe wouldn’t arrive for another week or so and he didn’t want any of the children in the area to play in the cottage. He felt odd at the thought of anyone other than him or Lucy in the cottage. He wondered uneasily how he would feel when Phoebe arrived. It was ridiculous being possessive about a house, though, especially when he was moving on. “It’s all superstitious nonsense, isn’t it?” he said in reply to Roger. 

“It’s a comforting thought,” Roger noted, “And I admit I’m more superstitious now than I was before the war.”

“Are you?” Brian failed to mask his surprise. “I don’t think I was very superstitious before and I’m even less so now. If something is going to happen it is going to happen.”

They set off back towards the Hall. Brian was careful to match Roger’s pace. He was definitely limping more than usual. 

Roger appeared deep in thought. “It’s just...There was so much senseless loss of life both during the war and afterwards with the ‘flu’. And sometimes I wonder...Are some people luckier than others? I mean...Look at me...I have a wonderful life but better men than me died.”

Brian did look at Roger. He looked at Roger’s leg – the scarring hidden beneath his clothes. He thought about Roger’s sunny positive nature. He thought of the act of heroism that had permanently wounded Roger. He looked at the walking stick John had carved for Roger. “I could massage your leg later, if you would like?” he offered.

Roger beamed at him. “That would be lovely! Thank you,” he replied. 

*

Sitting round the kitchen table drinking tea felt the same as usual – familiar and reassuring – yet also strangely different – new and slightly unsettling. Brian would not be going home at any point. This was home now.

Freddie set his tea-cup on its saucer and looked around the table. “It’s high time we started planning the midsummer ball,” he announced, prompting a groan from John and a loud sigh from Crystal.

“It’s only April,” John objected.

“These things take time to perfect,” Freddie told him. “We need to consider the theme, which firm we should use for the catering, who we should invite and so on.”

“Midsummer ball?” Brian wondered. 

“It’s traditional,” Freddie informed him. “We always have a little soiree on the longest day. It’s one of my favourite parties.”

“There’s a party for every season,” John informed Brian drily, “Sometimes two.”

“Well, darling, we all need something to look forward to,” Freddie said mildly. “Roggie, you love a party, don’t you dear?”

Roger smiled and nodded. He had been unusually quiet since they had returned from Brian’s cottage and Brian suspected he was in a fair bit of pain. Freddie realised something was wrong too. “Roggie, darling, are you okay?”

“Does your leg hurt, Sunshine?” Crystal asked. He pushed his chair back a little and held his arms out invitingly to Roger who was sitting next to him.

Roger slid over onto Crystal’s lap and rested his head on Crystal’s shoulder. “A bit,” he admitted. His face brightened. “But Brian’s going to massage it later.”

Brian was suddenly worried that he might burst into tears. He swallowed hard. Clearing his throat, he said, “Perhaps you should see the doctor?”

Roger pressed his face against Crystal’s shoulder like a shy child. “We know you don’t like the doctor, love,” John noted sympathetically, “but we don’t want you to be in pain either.”

“Let’s see how you feel after Brian’s massage,” Crystal suggested, gently stroking Roger’s hair. 

*

Brian frowned at the sight of Roger’s leg. The skin was inflamed. “You’re going to have to see a doctor, Rog,” he told him firmly. 

Roger sighed. “I thought you might say that,” he agreed.

“I have some cream that might help,” Brian said, “but you really need to see someone.” He sat on the bed and brushed his fingers across Roger’s cheek. “I suspect the doctor will prescribe bed rest.”

Roger sighed again. Then his face brightened. “You can all take turns at staying in bed with me!” he declared happily. 

*

The doctor was pleasant and ancient – he had come out of retirement during the war and since a generation of men had been lost he had never returned to pottering about in the garden. The first time Brian had met him he had asked respectfully about Brian’s experiences during the war when he had been a conscientious objector and had gone to the front as part of a medical team. 

He prescribed some exercises for Roger and suggested he should allow Brian to massage his leg every day. “I would recommend resting your leg as much as possible, certainly over the next few days, Mr Taylor,” the doctor said. “You have crutches, don’t you? Use them for at least a week rather than your walking stick.”

*

Roger nestled against Freddie who had arrived with a pen and notebook and was thinking out loud about the midsummer ball. “We had those little lanterns last year, with the coloured glass. Do you remember, darling, they were pretty weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, “We were so lucky with the weather last year,” he recalled. “It was lovely to be able to spend so much time in the garden.”

“Do you remember that man falling in the duck pond?” Freddie cackled. “He was someone’s date. I can’t recall his name.”

Roger laughed. “Yes, he was sweet. He was very drunk.”

“Everyone was very drunk, dear,” Freddie noted, “I think he might have been Veronica’s plus one. Shall I make a guest list? Who would you like to invite?”

“Dominique,” Roger suggested, “She’s always fun. We should invite Phoebe, of course and Veronica and Chrissie. Trip is always good company too.”

Freddie scribbled down names, throwing out a few suggestions of his own. “Should we have a theme, do you think? Should it be another costume party?”

Roger shook his head. “Crystal might leave if we make him dress up again,” he pointed out. Both of them giggled. “We could have a masked ball though. That’s always fun. Glamorous clothes and a little mask...”

“That sounds divine, darling,” Freddie agreed. “Should we have a colour theme then?”

Roger shook his head. “Let people wear what they want,” he thought. He imagined catching glimpses of the jewel like colours of elaborate dresses as people flitted through the gardens - elegant silks and breezy chiffon, sleek satin and sparkling sequins – men in dinner jackets with colourful masks over their eyes. “It’ll be beautiful,” he breathed. 

*

John read the paper. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he pointed out when Roger objected. 

“I can’t sleep all the time,” Roger protested, pouting at him.

John slid his arm around Roger, pulling him closer. Roger rested his head on John’s shoulder. It was peaceful, sitting like this, listening to the pages of the newspaper crinkling as John turned them. John read him the occasional snippet. “It’s all about the royal wedding,” John grumbled. “I’m not in the least bit interested about what Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon wore to marry the Duke of York!”

“Oh, I am!” Roger told him. 

“She laid her bouquet at the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior on the way into Westminster Abbey,” John read, his voice slightly unsteady, “Well, that’s quite...She lost her brother, of course.”

Roger gently kissed John’s cheek. “I suppose there are some things money can’t protect you from,” he murmured. 

John cleared his throat. “Her dress was made from ivory chiffon and embroidered with pearls and silver thread.”

“How lovely,” Roger breathed. 

*

Brian massaged his leg. He usually started out in a business-like fashion and then his hands wandered. Roger enjoyed gently teasing him about this and watching a rosy flush spread across his cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” Roger murmured to him. He thought Brian looked slightly surprised and resolved to tell him this more often.

He always invited Brian to lie next to him on the bed for a cuddle. Brian was very sensual. “There’s something very seductive about you,” Roger told him and received a fierce kiss.

Then Brian looked a little sheepish. “I shouldn’t be seducing you when you’re supposed to be resting,” he mumbled. 

“You might as well take advantage of the fact that I’m already in bed,” Roger laughed. Brian looked shocked. “You’re not hurting me,” Roger assured him. “I’m sure the way your touch fires up all my pleasure receptors is very beneficial for my health!” He kissed Brian. “You’re so adorable when you’re flustered, my love.”

*

Crystal showered him with kisses, cupping Roger’s face in his hands and pressing his lips to Roger’s forehead and cheeks – all over his face – before kissing his lips. He wrapped his arms around Roger and pulled him close pressing another kiss to the top of Roger’s head. “It’s bath time your gorgeousness.”

Roger kissed him enthusiastically. He wrapped his arms around Crystal’s neck and Crystal lifted him as if Roger was the bride he was carrying over the threshold. “Don’t get used to this,” Crystal warned him, as he did every evening, “Once you’re back on your feet you can run your own bath.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Roger wondered. He smiled at Crystal. “Are you joining me today?”

Crystal pressed his lips to the top of Roger’s head. “I shouldn’t...” he muttered. But they both knew he would. 

*

Roger gave a little sigh of contentment as he lay back in the warm water resting his back against Crystal’s chest and feeling Crystal’s arms slide around him. Crystal had added bubble bath so the water was sweetly scented and there were lots of bubbles. Roger raised a foamy hand in front of his face. “Lovely,” he declared.

“You’re easily pleased, Sunshine,” Crystal laughed.

“Tell me about your day,” Roger requested. 

“Well, I made the terrible decision to sleep with you last night,” Crystal sighed, “As you know. So I woke up far too early because of your atrocious snoring...”

“I do not snore!” Roger protested.

“I’ve had more peace in a trench under bombardment,” Crystal snorted, “So I was rudely awakened but despite my lack of sleep I brought you breakfast in bed. Don’t you be getting accustomed to that either, Roggie!”

“You don’t have to sleep with me,” Roger informed him mildly.

“Hard to get any actual sleep with you, Sunshine,” Crystal told him. “After breakfast while you stayed lounging about in bed I went to the orchard and made a start on chopping up that apple tree that came down in the storm.”

“Ooh, very manly,” Roger giggled. “Did you have to take your top off?”

“It was a warm day and I did eventually take my shirt off,” Crystal confirmed.

“I wish I’d seen that,” Roger sighed.

“I am literally completely naked with you in the bath right now,” Crystal pointed out.

“Yes, but you topless and wielding an axe is a different level of lust,” Roger informed him. 

Crystal laughed. “That’s...You’re...Don’t ever change, Roggie.” He nuzzled Roger’s neck. “If I’d known you were into topless wood chopping I’d have left the bloody tree until you were feeling better.”

“What did you do next after you’d toiled on our behalf like a fairy-tale woodcutter?” Roger asked. 

“I’d worked up an appetite,” Crystal told him. “I’d actually missed lunch but the others had left me soup to heat up and sandwiches. Who spoon fed you while you reclined on the thousands of cushions on your bed?”

“John made sure I didn’t starve,” Roger said primly. “What did you do after lunch?”

“After lunch Freddie ordered us all to go up into the attic and hunt for party decorations and anything that might be useful for the midsummer ball,” Crystal muttered, “So, you see, it isn’t all bad being stuck in bed!”

Roger grinned. “Did you find anything useful?”

Crystal snorted. “We really need to have a clear out. Freddie was delighted with some parasols he found. He seems to think they’ll be good decorations. And we found some lanterns which might come in handy. There’s a wooden chest with clothes in it too. Freddie’s threatening to make us go back up there tomorrow to sift through those.”

“Ooh, what kind of clothes?” Roger wondered. 

“I’ll tell him to bring them down to your room so you can see for yourself, love,” Crystal promised. 

*

Roger awakened to find one of Freddie’s cats curled up next to him on the bed. “Good morning, Clem,” he mumbled, running his hand across her soft head. The cat, called Clementine because of her rich ginger colour, emitted a rumbling purr. 

“You’ve re-joined the world, then,” Crystal greeted him, shouldering the door open. His hands were full carrying a tray laden with Roger’s breakfast. “Breakfast is served, Sleeping Beauty.”

Roger groggily struggled into a sleeping position. Crystal sat next to him, gently placing the tray across his thighs. Clementine briefly looked up. “Don’t mind us, Kitten,” Crystal told her.

“Aren’t you eating?” Roger wondered.

“I’ve already had mine,” Crystal told him, “While you were lazing about.” He stroked Roger’s hair. “It’s another nice day. Freddie suggested we could have lunch outside. I could carry you?”

“I could use my crutches,” Roger pointed out.

“I could carry you,” Crystal repeated. 

*

They had laid out the picnic rug and food under the shade of a large tree. Brian was lying with his head in Freddie’s lap. Freddie was stroking his hair as if he was one of the cats. Brian felt drowsy, watching the light filtering through the leaves of the tree. Somewhere to his left Roger was reading a letter from his sister out loud. It was chatty and amusing and Brian felt at peace. He felt like he belonged, he realised. He hadn’t quite acknowledged to himself how much of an outsider he had felt for most of his life until now. He smiled. 

“What are you thinking about, darling?” Freddie wondered. 

“How lucky I am,” Brian murmured. 

*

Phoebe moved into Brian’s great-aunt Lucy’s cottage a few days after the picnic. Roger was using crutches to get around by then although he still spent most of his time resting. “Nap time, like the toddler you are, dear,” as Freddie said.

John and Crystal had gone to help Phoebe move in and returned to the Hall saying they had invited him to dinner. “Oh, yes,” Freddie approved, “That’s an excellent idea.”

Freddie employed two gardeners, a cleaner and a cook but they didn’t normally have formal dinners and they all helped deal with the constant requirements of a house the size of Queen Hall. Brian wondered if Phoebe would warrant a formal dinner and was slightly relieved when Freddie said, “At least we don’t have to do anything fancy for Phoebe. We can just eat in the kitchen as usual.”

*

“Now, darling, do you remember Brian?” Freddie asked, pulling Phoebe over to Brian. “You two did meet at Crystal’s birthday party, I’m sure you did.”

Brian was reassured to see that Phoebe looked as blank as Brian felt. Brian certainly had no memory of meeting Phoebe. “I don’t think we had the chance to speak much,” he offered, “It’s lovely to meet you now.” Now that you’ve taken over my cottage, he added silently in his mind then chided himself – he had volunteered to let the cottage to Phoebe, after all. 

“It’s lovely to meet you properly too,” Phoebe told him warmly, “The cottage is wonderful. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to stay there.”

Brian beamed at him. “We’re glad you’re staying there too, Phoebs,” Roger told him, “It’s brought Brian closer to us.”

“Is your leg hurting?” Phoebe asked sympathetically, looking at Roger’s crutches.

“It’s getting better,” Roger told him cheerfully. “I’m so happy you’ve come over to eat with us, too. I’m usually in bed by now!”

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?” Phoebe asked, sounding anxious. 

“No,” Roger shook his head, “Definitely not!”

“We’re allowing him to stay up past his bed-time,” Crystal grinned as Roger stuck his tongue out at him. 

*

Over dinner Brian gathered that Phoebe had not served with the others during the war, as he had expected would be the case. Phoebe had explained – for the benefit of Brian – that he had a heart murmur that had excluded him from active service so he had volunteered in a hospital and had met Roger after he had been injured. And once you’d met Roger you met the others shortly afterwards, Brian thought.

He explained that he was going to be working in the Post Office in the village which was why he had needed somewhere to stay nearby. “You could have just stayed here, of course,” Freddie noted.

“I wouldn’t want to get under your feet,” Phoebe said with a little blush. “The cottage is perfect for me.” He glanced at Brian. “I wondered...Do you have any particular plans for the garden?”

The garden was, Brian knew, hopelessly overgrown. Would Phoebe expect him to do something about that? Of course he would – he was paying Brian to stay there. He suspected he must have looked worried because Freddie said, “Oh, we can send one of the gardeners over...”

Phoebe shook his head. “There’s no need...Really, if you wouldn’t mind I’d love to do it myself...I just didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

Brian felt a wave of relief. “That would be marvellous,” he said. “I should reduce your rent...”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Phoebe shook his head. “It’s very reasonable as it is. I was thinking about having a little vegetable patch, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Aunt Lucy used to grow vegetables,” Brian told him wistfully, “I’m afraid she’d be shocked at how I’ve let the garden run wild.”

“You’ve had other claims on your time, dear,” Freddie murmured. 

*

It was Brian who found Roger sprawled unconscious on the tiled floor of the hall with a little puddle of vomit next to him. A shattered vase lay nearby – water and daffodils spilled across the floor amidst the wreckage.

Brian lifted Roger’s hand, his fingers grasping Roger’s wrist checking his pulse. “Roggie? Can you hear me?”

Roger groaned. “Don’t worry, love,” Brian said softly, “I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be all right.”

*

Roger was back in no man’s land cowering in a crater as shells whistled overhead exploding deafeningly nearby. Dirt and stones showered him and he wondered if he would be buried alive. Buried alive or blown apart seemed to be the most likely two fates for him just now, neither of them were particularly appealing.

A stream of bad language greeted the unceremonious arrival of another soldier flinging themselves down the side of the crater. They both flinched at the sudden rattle of machine gun fire. The newcomer flung himself protectively over Roger with a grunt. “Thank you,” Roger said, his voice muffled as his face was now pressed against someone’s shoulder. 

On the far side of their crater further showers of dirt and stones showed where bullets had struck the earth. “Our bombardment will have taken out their defences they said,” the new arrival grumbled and Roger realised with considerable relief that it was Crystal, “We’ll have destroyed their gun emplacements they told us.” He rolled off of Roger and flopped onto his back next to him.

Their eyes met. “The usual farce,” they said in unison and each gave a little huff of laughter. It was either laugh or cry.

“You injured, Sunshine?” Crystal asked.

“No,” Roger shook his head, “You?” He was relieved to discover Crystal was also unharmed.

*

He had not been injured then, on that day. It felt like a lifetime ago now. It felt like another world – a terrible terrifying world of noise and pain and sudden death or horrifying injury. 

No, he had not been injured then, on that day, but he felt a searing pain now. He groaned.

“You’re all right, darling,” a soft voice told him. Roger did not feel very all right.

“I’m just going to lift you, Sunshine,” Crystal said. His voice was gruff. Roger could not open his eyes. The pain was hammering him like waves pounding onto rocks. He tried to open his mouth to tell Crystal not to touch him – he thought he might shatter – something else had shattered, he thought hazily. A torrent of vomit came out instead. “All right, love,” Crystal murmured. 

“Rog, can you...Open your mouth for me...” That was Brian, Roger realised. He opened his mouth obediently, still unable to open his eyes. He flinched as cold liquid dripped into his mouth. “It should help with the pain, love.”

*

Freddie was singing softly to John. They were snuggled together in the trench trying not to lose their minds at the constant bombardment intended to destroy the barbed wire and enemy defences. It never seemed to work as far as Roger could tell but they seemed to keep on trying it anyway. Perhaps they had run out of ideas. 

Would he grow old in a trench like this? Would they all be stuck here forever, fighting a never-ending war? But it was hard to imagine anyone would grow old in a trench. They would all be blown to bits first. That was too gloomy a thought, though. Roger supposed that was the sort of thing men thought just before they started screaming. He focussed on the sound of Freddie singing instead. He joined in, singing along. That was safer. 

*

One of the cats, “Probably Jet,” Freddie sighed, “I’ve seen him weaving around the vase before,” had knocked over the vase of daffodils and when Roger had been making his way across the hall he had slipped on the resulting puddle of water. 

He had landed heavily on his bad leg. The pain had caused him to vomit and pass out.

“It’s like snakes and ladders,” Roger sighed. “It all seemed to be going swimmingly but now I’ve spiralled down a snake and I’m back on bed-rest.” 

Crystal ruffled his hair. “Admit it,” he said, “You love bed-rest. You love having us all attending to your every whim.” He was alarmed when Roger did not make an indignant retort. Roger only managed to muster a small smile and then whimpered that he felt sick again.

John handed Crystal a basin which he held in front of Roger. Roger was not sick but did flop back listlessly on his pillows.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Brian suggested. 

Roger looked alarmed. “Have you been having bad dreams, darling?” Freddie asked. Roger nodded.

“I can give you something to help you sleep,” Brian suggested. 

“I...” Roger looked anxious, “I’m not sure about being drugged...”

“Just an idea,” Brian said soothingly. “What else would help?”

“Should one of us stay with you?” John asked gently. 

Roger nodded. He reached out towards Crystal. “Will you stay?” he asked. 

“Yes, of course,” Crystal nodded.

“I think we’d all be delighted to stay with you, Rog,” John said softly. 

Roger frowned. “It’s not that I...I love all of you...You know that don’t you?” Everyone nodded. “I just...I’m not sure why it’s Crystal...”

“You don’t have to explain, love,” Brian said.

Freddie smoothed Roger’s hair. “We all love you, darling, and we always will even if you don’t want me to sing you to sleep.”

“Oh, that’d be lovely,” Roger beamed at him. 

“Yeah,” Crystal said, “and then you can escape, Freddie, while I listen to Roggie snoring.”

John had taken Roger’s hand and lifted it to his lips kissing it. “I’d want Crystal watching over me, too,” he said softly. 

*

Jet was nestled on Roger’s bed when Crystal brought his breakfast the following morning. “You’re in my bad books,” Crystal told the cat sternly. Jet did not look up from his nap. A pure black cat, he looked like a round void on the bedspread. 

“It was my own stupid fault for not avoiding the puddle,” Roger told him. His fingers gently brushed Jet’s fur. 

“Did you sleep well?” Crystal asked, setting the tray on Roger’s lap and brushing a lock of Roger’s hair away from his face.

Roger nodded. “Thank you for staying,” he murmured. 

“Thought I might stay every night until you feel better,” Crystal muttered, “Unless you’d like us to take turns?”

“I’d like that,” Roger told him. “Do you think the others will mind?”

Crystal shook his head. “None of them want to put up with your appalling snoring, Sunshine,” he sighed dramatically, “I drew the short straw.” He was relieved when Roger flung a pillow at him which he dodged laughing. 

*

Brian had been slightly apprehensive about Phoebe once he discovered that he had tried to volunteer to fight during the war. Brian had sometimes found that men who had volunteered – even if they had been declared medically exempt – were very vitriolic towards men like him who had been conscientious objectors.

He discovered he needn’t have worried. Phoebe shared similar feelings of guilt about being alive when so many men had died. They had both volunteered to serve in other ways, of course, but that didn’t help with the guilt. And, like Brian, Phoebe had been harangued by grieving people for not having fought. It made no difference to the grief-stricken that he had not been allowed to or that he had worked in a hospital. All that mattered to them was that Phoebe and Brian were alive when their sons or brothers or fiancés were dead.

“We all feel guilty, I think,” John had told Brian once, “Guilty that we lived, guilty about what we did or didn’t do.”

Brian sometimes wondered if the generals who had commanded them like toy soldiers on a little board – playing God with men’s lives – felt guilty.

Brian would have felt even worse if he had fought, though. He was certain of that. He had traded one kind of guilt for another but he was glad he had chosen to try to save lives rather than take them.

“Do you think we’re evil?” Roger had asked once. 

“No,” Brian shook his head. “The situation was evil, not you. Not any of you. None of us should have been forced to make that choice,” he had murmured. “It was an impossible position to be in and you took one route and I took another. I don’t feel I’m morally superior to you, or to anyone. I just...I couldn’t have done what you did.”

Roger had nodded as if he had understood and he had kissed Brian, holding him close. “You saved me,” he had murmured. 

No, Brian had thought, all of you saved me. 

*

“Looks like we’re going to be lucky with the weather again,” Freddie declared happily on the morning of the ball. 

The Hall was a hive of activity. Freddie had hired catering staff, a cleaning company and there seemed to be a little army of people who were undertaking tasks like hanging lanterns and sweeping paths.

The day had dawned warm and sunny and Brian had to admit he was excited at the prospect of the ball. John and Crystal were less enthusiastic. “If it was just us, I’d love it,” John told him. “It’s the small-talk and the...the...”

“The having to be polite,” Crystal suggested and John laughed and nodded. 

“Well, you’re not untamed savages, dear,” Freddie told them sternly, “I’m expecting you both to be on sparkling form tonight.”

“I think I am an untamed savage, actually,” Crystal told him. 

Roger nodded, his eyes glinting. “He is, it’s a well known fact.”

“I’m very unsociable,” John suggested. 

“Nonsense,” Freddie huffed, “You are both perfectly capable of being charming when you want to be.”

“I only want to charm you,” John grumbled, “Not random guests.”

“They are not random,” Freddie informed him, “They are a very carefully selected group. I don’t allow just anyone to attend one of my soirees, you know.”

*

Roger had improved enough to be back to using his walking stick to get around. John had made him a walking stick especially for the party and Freddie had painted it so it matched the cloth mask he would be wearing. 

Brian felt privileged to be able to see the amount of preparation that went on behind the scenes. He was an insider, he realised. This was the first party at the Hall he was attending not as a guest but as a resident. Resident made it sound like an institution, he thought. Family – he was attending this ball as one of the family. The thought made him feel almost overwhelmed with emotion. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Freddie asked, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

“Yeah,” Brian cleared his throat, “Just...I’m just thinking how lucky I am.”

“We’re the lucky ones,” Freddie told him. 

*

Flashes of colour dazzled the eye as people in bright dresses of every hue flitted round the garden. Lanterns hung from the trees barely needed even this late in the evening. It was the longest day. Or the shortest night, depending on how you looked at it. Long in a good way, Brian thought through a haze of alcohol.

He heard the click of Roger’s cane on the path and turned to find him approaching. Roger snuggled against him. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked. 

“I am,” Brian told him. “It’s...beautiful.” It was civilised, he thought. It was a world apart from the horrors of the war. It was a world emerging out of the darkness like a glorious gaudy butterfly. And the best part was that he got to share it with his lovers.


End file.
